PLEASE IMAGINE MEDICATION

You know that thing they say when someone is slowly turning into a weirdo loner? When it's obvious that there is no one in their life who will keep them grounded, and they gradually start convincing themselves that the Clintons are lizard-aliens, or that Obama is white?

Usually they say that that person needs a sexual experience.

Well, that won't help in this case. Both Little White Nipple Dude and Tinfoil Hat Stevie are too far gone.

This morning Tinfoil Hat Stevie was on the phone with his credit-card company. When is his money going to be refunded?
He filled out all the forms.


That conversation went sideways fast.


See, the problem is that "they" are tracking him, because Shell and Trump are planning to strip-mine Marin County. All of it. Now that the Russians and the Clinton Foundation have stepped back because their cover got blown.
Everybody knows that the Ruskies and Clintons were planning to frack Marin. They showed their hand when they killed Robin Williams.

Fo' shizzle.

He spent twenty minutes angrily trying to convince the poor clerk on the other end of the line of these facts, which are important, dammit, and fundamental to understanding why and how his credit card got stolen.
So it's not his fault, and where's his money?


"WHAT HE NEEDS IS A GOOD LAY!"


Yeah, no. That kind of weird-ass old fart needs Valium, is what. And no woman needs that between her bed sheets or in the backseat of her car. Or man. If he's that way. Which if he is, would embarrass all the fine gay gentlemen I know. They don't need that fronting for them.

He does NOT need a good lay. Any lay. And kindly stop saying that, you're making it seem like sex cures "eccentricity". It doesn't. Trust me on this.

And Little White Nipple Dude was already problematic before adolescence, from what I hear, and has become calmer and more well-behaved as he's entered middle-age, though in no way less dreary and fanciful.
But that might be because of his imaginary wife.
And the fourteen year old daughter.
Also figmentary.

If he had a good lay, it would only complicate matters.

Besides, for both of these splendid exemplars of irritating goobus the ideal woman would surely be a four hundred pound female wrestler who doesn't take crap from anyone. And who is herself "forcefull".

"Jes' lay down and shut up, little man. Conversation isn't your strong suit, and that isn't why you're here."

You know, I would worry about her.
Maybe she likes living wild?

In any case, it ain't gonna happen.
And I don't want to hear about it.
In any detail, even forensically.




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